


Incomplete

by loveandallthat



Series: Interesting [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8183446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandallthat/pseuds/loveandallthat
Summary: Bitty and Kent get just a little better at being over Jack Zimmermann.  Together, sometimes.
Sequel to Inadvertent.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Halfway through writing this, as tends to happen to me, updates were going on!  So, that. I know this probably isn't what people want to read after all the Zimbits happiness but I'm going to break it up. So to speak.  
> I’ve never been to Boston, but I didn’t want to stretch the plot just so that they ended up somewhere I’ve actually been.  Though, when I wrote them in Vegas it was before I had been there, so I guess that’s the theme of this series.  
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta shizuos/izayas on tumblr/ao3 respectively . . . she does such a good job.  
> You don't have to have read Inadvertent to understand this; it's basically a fic where Jack and Bitty dated but it didn't work out and it led to Bitty and Kent becoming friends, sort of. Kissing friends. Just the once.

Receiving a text from Kent Parson was no longer an unusual occurrence in Eric Bittle’s life.  This particular one, however, changed things a little.

It didn’t help that he was with Jack Zimmermann at the time.

The easy camaraderie that Eric and Jack had before they got together was altered, though not destroyed.  When Eric had worried that he would be the one to ruin it before, he had only been imagining himself telling Jack how he felt, and being rejected--even a kind rejection would have been devastating.  And yet something about having tried and failed was more painful, at least for the few months between their breakup and now.  Months passed where they didn’t know how to be around each other, acted too close to a couple or to far from friends.

A combination of that and Jack having playoffs had eventually led to them taking a break.  Eric knew what it meant when couples took a break, but considering they had already broken up, what were they doing?  However, the most surprising thing to him was that Jack seriously meant it--it was just a break, and they actually decided to see each other again.

Jack was incredibly considerate of Eric, making sure that he was doing all the traveling to get to Samwell from Providence, picking him up in the same car from last time.  It was so nice of him, and though Eric used to take the bus fairly often to see Jack, he still felt guilty about the unevenness of this get together.  The fact that it had been so long since the last time they saw each other put additional pressure on the evening.  And yet Eric had the feeling that he was aching to see Jack, that he somehow needed to.

Clearly Jack was thinking something similar, because he had been the one to break the silence.  And wasn’t that a sign of development, an indication of personal growth?  Eric no longer had to be constantly reaching.  Instead he had given Jack the space that they probably both needed, and when Jack had called him, it turned out they were both feeling ready.

Sheesh, how melodramatic, Eric thought to himself.  They were friends first, and there was no reason that they couldn’t go back to being friends.  Or, that was the plan, anyway.

Jack didn’t tell Eric where he was taking him, which made him worried it would be somewhere expensive--that and the fact that Jack has more money than he knows what to do with, and that they were less likely to be interrupted somewhere nice than if they were on campus.  OK, so he was pretty sure they would end up at a nice restaurant.

He got dressed with that in mind, hope in the back of his mind that they wouldn’t end up outside or doing something active, but when he got into Jack’s car and saw a similar state of dress, he was impressed with his own instincts.

“You look nice,” Jack said, as Eric got into the passenger seat.  The first-date atmosphere wasn’t gone; Eric felt like his hands were empty without flowers, even though he’d never brought anyone flowers.  He may have spent too much time watching romantic comedies post-breakup.

“You do, too,” Eric replied.  Of course it was true; Jack always looked amazing.  He wasn’t the best at dressing himself, but someone must have picked out his clothes.  His shirt didn’t quite match the pinstripe of his pants, but Eric was almost more embarrassed to have noticed that than anything else.  Really sticking to the stereotypes, he chided himself in his head.

Jack smiled like he didn’t believe Eric.  He drove off from the Haus without coming in to greet anyone else, driving as smooth and careful as he usually did.  Eric didn’t know if Jack always drove like that--especially knowing his self-destructive past--or if it was just for Eric, to keep him safe.  When they were dating, he liked to imagine that Jack was just trying to keep him safe, thinking of him as important.  He could still think of it like that; it still felt nice.

Eric opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again.  There were so many things he could say, so many ways he could go with this--too many uncertainties.  But that was the entire point of this endeavor, so he sifted through his mind and plucked the least threatening conversation starter.

“How have you been?”

Oh, and the second most cliche.  After, of course, ‘you look good.’

But Jack didn’t call him out on it.  It was a relief, except that a lot of Jack’s flirting had actually been chirping; Jack passing up an opportunity when they used to be so comfortable with each other didn’t feel like a good sign.

“Busy,” Jack answered, after a pause that was almost too long.  Well, yeah.  That figured.  It even made Eric feel dumb for asking.

“I missed you,” Eric blurted out, social conventions be damned.  But Jack laughed, in a way that made Eric clench his fist against his pants to avoid bringing it to his heart immediately.

“I missed you, too,” Jack responded, like it was easy for him, like things had never gotten awkward between the two of them.

“I’m glad you came,” Eric declared past the lump in his throat.  

“Me, too,” Jack said, and Eric believed him.

 

Halfway through dinner, they both checked their phones at the same time.  Eric’s had vibrated and he grabbed it without thinking, then looked up to see if Jack had noticed.  Jack was, unusually, checking his own phone.

_ heyyyyu _

Great.  It’s a drunk text, at 8:24.  On a Thursday.  

Eric’s eyes flew to Jack immediately, unthinkingly.  Had Kent been the one to text him, too?  Eric and Kent had been exchanging texts a few times a week which, while not excessive, was enough for it to have been revealed that Kent had been texting Jack as well, and even receiving responses.  He wasn’t sure on how often the two of them texted, though knowing that Jack was one half of the equation made him sure it was somewhat infrequent.  There was no reason to be jealous, even if they were texting constantly; Jack and Eric had been broken up for months, now.

Looking at the text, Eric was honestly tempted to respond, to chirp Kent.  It was weird to be at that point, to feel that comfortable talking to Kent Parson like that, but this was his life now.

Except that he was too busy at a nice restaurant with a different NHL star.  Who was most likely also being drunk texted, and . . . maybe they weren’t at that level of comfort anymore.  Eric bet that they used to be, and tried not to spend too much time thinking about that when he was supposed to be focused on Jack.

He put his phone back into his pocket, turning it fully off as he did so.  Jack looked at him at that moment, of course, catching the movement.

“Did you just turn your phone off?”  Jack’s voice was incredibly, insultingly shocked.

“Excuse me?  I can turn my phone off any time I want,” Eric claimed.

Jack held up his own phone demonstratively as he turned it off, too.  The phone looked new--Eric wanted to make a joke, fake applause at Jack’s competency with it, but he wasn’t sure of their limits yet, their comfort level.  By the time he’d decided he may as well go for it, the moment had passed.

This was weird, wasn’t it?  Friends didn’t go to dinner and intentionally turn their phones off to keep all their focus on each other.  Or did they, and Eric was making it weird because they used to date? 

It wasn’t this weird the last time, when they had more recently broken up, and then run into Kent, instead of being texted.  Well, actually it was, but they really turned it around.  Wait, no, Eric knew that it was bad to think about a hookup on a sort-of not-really date with his ex-boyfriend.  Especially when the hookup was his ex’s ex.

Eric looked up.  Jack looked awkward too, and they were probably lucky to be interrupted by the waiter at that moment.  Though Eric was previously accustomed to ordering for both of them, Jack ordered his own main dish and a salad and didn’t look at the appetizers.  Eric was reading  _ way  _ too much into this if he thought that meant that he didn’t want to be here long, wasn’t he?

Well, it was too late, he was thinking it.  The waiter left, and all of Eric’s actual thoughts were conversationally off-limits, so he was basically thrilled when Jack brought up stories about the season that had just finished.  The Falconers were too new to have really had great successes, but Jack had brought the team up to a surprising level, though he was modest about it as usual.

Baking was a safe topic, Eric realized, feeling like he was grasping at straws.  Most of his stories were of recipes he was specifically baking for Chowder, trying to zero in on his favorites, while pretending he was doing it for the whole Haus.  Jack laughed at him and called him predictable, which was fair.

“So you’ve been good, then,” Jack stated more than asked.

Eric had really thought they had gotten over the post breakup awkwardness by their last dinner, but he also remembered that Kent had been there, and that Jack . . . might not know that they’d spent time together after that.  Which might have meant that the awkwardness was his own fault.

“I am,” he replied to Jack’s non-question, smiling through the discomfort.

“Yeah, um,” Jack started, and maybe it wasn’t just Eric after all.

He waited; Jack didn’t continue.

“Something else?” Eric prompted, trying to play it cool and feeling shaky enough that he was sure it wasn’t working at all.

“And Parse and I have been talking more since--well, since that dinner,” Jack replied, quickly and quietly.

“Oh,” Eric answered, startled.   _ That  _ was what was worrying him?  “I sort of knew that already,” he confessed.

It was Jack’s turn to look surprised.  “How?” he blurted, loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the restaurant, and distinctly un-Jack-like in that respect.

Eric bit his lip and thought about the best way to approach this conversation, and knew there wasn’t one.  “I guess he and I kind of became friends after that?”

There was a darkness to Jack’s expression that Eric didn’t like at all, one he hadn’t seen since his first year at Samwell.  It was quickly covered over by a more impassive mask, but there was no mistaking what he saw.

“Why?” Jack asked.  “You have nothing in common except--oh.”

A strange, unexpected twinge of anger went through Eric at that, the idea that Jack would think that a romantic interest in and subsequent separation from him would be a force strong enough to bring two people together--except that it was exactly like that.  That was exactly what happened.

“Sort of,” Eric confessed.  “But maybe we’re just more similar than you realized and you have somewhat of a type?  I mean, I was mad at him on your behalf, but when I forget about that we kind of get along.”

“You’re much nicer than Parse,” Jack muttered.  “I mean, you don’t have to be mad at him for me.  Or if you are you might want to be mad at me, too.”

Eric didn’t say anything.  He wasn’t mad at Jack on Kent’s behalf before, but maybe there was something to that logic after all.  It seemed like the public opinion on their situation was rather mixed; Kent was the one who “won” so to speak, and Jack was the one who had a breakdown and clawed his way back to the top.  Even though there was no longer a reason to pit them against each other, some people, some old hockey fans still did, and the vote was almost evenly divided.  And they didn’t even know half the story.

“He doesn’t tell me anything about back then,” Eric found himself saying without thinking.  “If you were worried about that.”

“I wasn’t.  I trust you, both of you.”  It seemed like quite a concession for Jack, but it was true that Kent had kept a lot of his secrets, if nothing else.  Then Jack got a look of realization on his face.  “He’s the one who texted you, isn’t he?”

“Um, yes.”

“Drunk?  Yeah, me too.”

Eric shrugged.  “It’s probably easier after something to drink.”

Jack looked like he didn’t know what to do with that sentence.  He swirled the ice around in his cup, kept his eyes down, readjusted his silverware.  “I’m not trying to be difficult,” is what he finally said.

“Jack.  I love you-” Jack flinched, “-I love you and I want what’s best for you,” Eric continued.  “You’re not being difficult; you’re just doing what you need.  I understand that.  Kent--will understand that eventually.  If talking to him is too hard you can stop, but I think it’s helping him, and maybe you?”

A hint of a smile formed itself on Jack’s face, slowly but noticeably.  “You’re much nicer than either of us,” he said.

Eric felt his face heat up.  Mostly he was flattered, but then he remembered visiting Kent in Las Vegas, remembered kissing him, being under him.  He probably wasn’t as nice as Jack thought.

\---

Of course, Eric got back to the Haus that night, late from the long drive and longer dinner, and turned his phone right back on to answer Kent.  The group chat had blown up; Eric had been wrong about how careful he was not to let anyone figure out where he was, and they all knew Jack had been there and not talked to any of them.  Hopefully the boys attributed it to what they thought of as Jack and Eric’s particularly strong Skype friendship instead of speculating.  Eric thanked his friendship with Shitty for making it look like he was just the kind of guy who kept up well with his old teammates.

There were more texts from Kent, progressively harder to read, so Eric just pressed the call button.

“You texted Jack tonight,” he said when Kent picked up after five rings.

Kent groaned back.

“I was at dinner with him,” Eric sing-songed.

“I’m too drunk for this,” Kent finally spoke.

“I, on the other hand, am not drunk enough,” Eric replied primly.

It was as if he could hear Kent’s smile through the phone.  “Guess where I am!”

Several places cycled through Eric’s mind, each less likely than the last, but he had a bad feeling.  “No way.”

“If you guessed ‘Boston’,” Kent started.

“Oh my Lord,” Eric muttered.

“-Then you’d be correct!” Kent finished, as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

Eric stood up from his desk chair, giving up the facade of attempting to do his homework.  “Why?” he moaned.

“It was either here or Providence,” Kent admitted, sounding suddenly sober.

Already putting on his shoes, Eric switched his phone to the other ear and rested it on his shoulder.  “I can be there in less than an hour.  Get a hotel room if you don’t want me to drag you back to the Haus.”

Taking the bus was annoying, and taking it back would be worse, so he dumped all his school stuff out of his bag quickly and filled it with a change of clothes and some sweatpants, throwing in whatever was on his bathroom counter and hoping it was all he needed.  He was vehemently Not Thinking about the fact that this implied he might be staying in a hotel with Kent Parson.  It was just a contingency plan, nothing more.  It was unlikely that he would need any of this stuff; Kent would probably realize that the last time they’d seen each other was more than enough, was all that they could take, and they would go their separate ways.  Eric would take the late, sketchy bus back to campus and mourn the two wasted hours of travel.

Yes, that was definitely the most likely result.

\---

That wasn’t what happened.

\---

Eric got a text with a hotel and a room number, and realized it was only a short walk from the bus station.  Was there any way that was planned, or was it a lucky coincidence?  Probably the latter.  Almost certainly.  He felt awkward walking in, like he was somehow obviously not a guest, and slid between the already closing doors of the first elevator he saw.  When he did, he realized that the room number he was looking at on his phone screen was the top floor.

Indeed, when he got up, Kent appeared to have picked out a suite.  Of course.  Sure, he had the money, but it seemed to Eric that this wasn’t the best use.  Then again, maybe he was bribing himself to stay in Boston instead of Providence, and Eric would empathize with that like crazy, if he had the money to bribe himself.

He knocked on the door and Kent opened it almost immediately, a bright smile on his face and a very slight smell of alcohol in the room.  The fact that it was noticeable probably wasn’t the best, but Eric had been afraid it would be much worse.

“You really came!” Kent yelled, dragging him in by the elbow.  Eric wasn’t sure what their etiquette was at this point, but when he awkwardly patted Kent on the shoulder a few times, he instead found himself engulfed in a hug.

“Well, aren’t you in a mood?” Eric grumbled.  The bus ride hadn’t been kind to him, and he was still emotionally exhausted from the time spent with Jack.  He returned the hug anyway, kind of needing it.

Kent pulled back and looked him up and down, hands on his shoulders so he couldn’t escape.  “Aren’t you?” he asked.

“Probably,” Eric acquiesced.  He walked over to the couch in the lounge area, trying not to be too obvious in his scan of the ridiculous room.  He would never understand that level of money, would he?

The couch shifted dramatically as Kent sat down next to him, and Eric realized that the coffee table contained what looked like the entire contents of the minibar--a huge variety of airplane bottles of hard liquor, several beers and wines, sparkling water, and a spread of snacks.  It felt premeditated.  Eric turned to ask Kent about it, but was incredibly distracted by his proximity.

With just Kent’s smile, Eric felt their entire time in Vegas come rushing back to him.  Shit, why did he agree to be alone with him; why did he sit on the couch?

Why did he come here right after seeing Jack?

They’ve had conversations about him, when they’re both drunk, usually, though sometimes Eric faked it.  Maybe sometimes Kent did too, maybe they need to talk to someone who understands, no matter how many reasons they have not to like each other.  

Still, it was a miracle that it was enough to keep them talking, after some things they’ve said.  After Kent had claimed Jack was still in love with Eric, after Eric had claimed that Kent got to see the true, unfiltered Jack.

He thought they could last forever just based on that, on how messed up they each were over Jack Zimmermann.

But then it evolved.

Two guys, looking for the same things in the same places.  They could have had too much in common--for a while it seemed like they did, but Jack actually emphasized their differences.  And they were still talking to him; how could they not?

Now, though, they both had closed chapters in their lives, wrapped in yellow and black police tape labeled “too much too much too much,” they couldn’t be what Jack needed and he couldn’t be what they needed and instead of drifting aimlessly they clinged, just a little, to each other.

It might not have been the best.

It was fine.

Kent picked up the remote and gestured to the TV, quizzically, and Eric nodded.  Breaking up the silence was probably smart, especially with anything but hockey.

Then he suddenly wondered.  “Why tonight?”

“What?” Kent asked.

“Why was tonight the one night where you almost ended up going to see Jack?”

With a loud sigh, Kent leaned back into the couch.  He took another sip of beer which reminded Eric that he didn’t have a drink, and he poured some of a soda and a tiny bottle of vodka into a glass.

“‘S dumb,” Kent slurred, in a weird, pointed way that made Eric feel like it might be more out of awkwardness than drunkenness.  “It’s . . . the anniversary of the draft.”

Oh.  Oh, shit.

That might have explained why Jack had wanted to be with Eric, too.

He couldn’t muster up a response no matter how much he tried.

“It’s not a big deal,” Kent continued.  “I almost didn’t remember.”

“It’s . . . fine, if it’s a big deal,” Eric whispered.

“Really, it isn’t.  It just got stuck in my head.”

That brings something back to Eric, a memory of a time when he’d used the same words in a completely different situation.

“Things happen to get stuck in your head a lot,” he commented, not really meaning much by it, but Kent flinched.

“I guess so,” he admitted, and it hit Eric all at once, the main thing, or rather, person, who had gotten stuck in Kent’s head for the longest.  Unlike the last time they had seen each other, Eric was thinking much more about Kent’s point of view than Jack’s.

“What did you text him?”  Eric asked, suddenly remembering.

“‘How are you?’” Kent answered, monotonously.  “He didn’t answer.”

Eric knew that, or at least that he hadn’t answered right away.  “He had his phone off,” Eric said, even though he knew that had happened after the text.  

Kent looked like he somehow knew that.  At least, like he knew what Eric was trying to do.  “I texted you first.  That counts as progress.”

Sadly, that seemed true.  Not like Eric was one to talk about healthy attitudes toward Jack Zimmermann, but he was getting there.  He was pretty close, even.

His phone vibrated.  He took it out of his pocket, expecting it to be Jack and feeling immediately guilty.  “Oh.”

“Who is it?” Kent asked, eyes still in the general direction of the TV, though Eric doubted he would know what was happening, if asked.

Eric was already looking through his bag for his charger.  “Low battery.  And . . . I didn’t remember my charger.  Of course.”

He realized too late that he would have only brought his charger if he was planning to stay long, and that by implying that he had intended to bring it, he was also implying . . .

Kent had already gotten up when Eric looked over to the other side of the couch, and he was quickly back with his own phone charger, handing it over.  He was admittedly still unsteady on his feet, but it seemed as though a lot of his previous drunkenness had faded.

“You can borrow mine, but I don’t know who you’d rather be talking to than me.”

Eric jumped slightly, then felt his face heat up.  He hadn’t meant to react so strongly.  Kent, of course, laughed at him.

That night, the weirdness and the overexposure to Jack Zimmermann after a drought, had made Eric already kind of want to talk to Kent, but he definitely wouldn’t have initiated it, knowing what he knows of the past.  So, actually, there wasn’t anyone else he would rather be talking to.

Kent kicked at Eric’s shin until he looked up at him.  “I’m glad you’re the one who answered.”

Unable to hold back a smile, Eric responded, “I’m glad you called.”

“It was just today.”  Kent hesitated.  “Usually I’m not tempted to talk to Jack anymore.”

“I actually got used to not talking to him too, until he asked to see me today.”  Eric hadn’t really thought about not thinking about Jack until this moment, but it was kind of true.

Kent hummed thoughtfully, and Eric realized all at once that their legs were still touching.  They had a bad track record with couches, Eric thought.  Once they were on one at the Haus, as celebrity and fan, and once they were on Kent’s in Vegas as . . . something else.

“It’s weird,” Kent admitted.  Eric couldn’t help but agree.  It was incredibly weird, after over two years of thinking about Jack way too much.  How long had Kent known him?  And still it took years for him.  What was it about Jack Zimmermann, anyway?

What mattered at that moment was that he had brought Kent and Eric together, that he was the reason they were in an incredibly fancy Boston hotel room, approaching midnight on a Friday night, sitting far too close for strangers and yet too far for lovers.  He brought together two people who were looking for the same thing and didn’t find it where they thought it would be.

Eric was just trying not to look for the same thing in Kent.

“You seem less drunk,” Eric pointed out.

“I did a lot of shots,” Kent explains.  “I was really drunk when I texted you, but it’s been going away quickly since you got here.”

“So I have a sobering presence?”  Eric was mostly joking, but he didn’t exactly like the sound of that.

But Kent gave him a slow, steady once-over that made him honest to God  _ shiver _ , and said, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Maybe we should go to bed,” Eric suggested.  Kent’s eyebrows shot up.  “Go to  _ sleep _ , I meant!” Eric amended.

“Sure, sure,” Kent teased.  “It’s barely midnight.  What kind of college student are you?”

“The exhausted kind,” Eric sighed.  He was, too, mentally from school, but mostly emotionally from dinner.

Kent laughed.  “There’s only one bed, but I can take the couch.”

“I couldn’t--” Eric started to protest.

“I want to stay here and watch TV anyway,” Kent insisted.  “Plus I asked you to come here.”

“If you’re staying here, I’m staying here,” Eric asserted.  “So we’re sharing the bed or sharing the couch.”

“Sounds familiar.”

That was the first time that Kent had really made Eric aware that last time was on his mind, too.  It made sense, of course, but Eric had been feeling distinctly alone for some reason.  It was nice to have that disputed.

“We’re playing a dangerous game,” Eric whispered, half-hoping Kent wouldn’t hear him, and secretly hoping that he would.

Of course, Kent heard him, and his smirk looked especially bright in the light of the TV.  He sprawled out so that his legs were behind Eric’s back, between him and the couch.  He gestured to his general chest area.  “Come here.”

Eric stood up for a second, and Kent reached out for him, but he just walked into the bedroom and grabbed the comforter off the bed.  He draped it over Kent, then flipped a corner up to allow himself to get under, burying his face in Kent’s neck to hide from the light of the TV.  Kent shifted to let him in, then squirmed a bit more--Eric felt it along the whole length of his body--and the volume on the TV went down dramatically.

“I’m going to fall off before morning,” Eric predicted.  Kent threw an arm and a leg over him and pulled him in closer..

This should have been too intimate; it should have made Eric panic.  Instead it felt normal, safe and warm.  Here, in an unfamiliar five-star hotel, surrounded by luxury and Kent Parson, Eric’s breathing evened out slowly until he fell asleep.

\---

Eric woke up almost falling off the couch, of course, but managed to throw out the arm that wasn’t asleep at the last second, landing with a hand and foot on the floor, and standing up clumsily.

Of course, it had the advantage of waking Kent up, and making Eric feel incredibly guilty, until he looked at his (completely charged) phone to see that it was after 9.  He took it out of the charger and swapped Kent’s in without asking.

“How did we sleep so late?” he asked, when Kent had sat up and started rubbing his hand over his face.

“I don’t know about you, but I was quite comfortable.”  Eric went red, again.  He actually had been, on that small sofa that countless other people had done who knows what on.

“I guess it wasn’t  _ terrible _ ,” Eric teased him.  Kent looked completely unaffected, and Eric could only assume that he wasn’t fooling him in the slightest.

“Do you have to do anything today?” Kent asked, then immediately disappeared into the bedroom to throw the comforter into a heap on the bed.  He came back with a pile of clothes that he presumably left in there before Eric had gotten there.

“No,” Eric replied, suspicious.  “Why?”

“I could probably extend my stay here . . . And it’s Saturday.  You should show me the sights.”

Eric couldn’t help but grin.  “You’ve been here more than I have, I bet.”

“Then I can show you the sights.”  Kent was still gathering all of his things together, though, like he expected Eric to say no, like he was already getting ready to check out.

“Sure,” Eric decided, wondering if he was going to immediately regret this.  He didn’t, but he had all day to wish he’d just gone back to school.  “I only have one change of clothes, though.”

“Why would you need another one?” Kent asked, looking perplexed.  

Oops.  Of course he was going to go back at the end of the day.  It’s not like they were going to stay out all day and come back to the room; Kent was just talking about extending it for himself.  Like Eric could get by taking advantage of his generosity that much, anyway.

Kent held out for a moment, then laughed.  It still kind of took Eric’s breath away.  “Just kidding.  I can buy you some today, if you want.”

“Now hold on a minute, mister, I’m not fixing to get myself a sugar daddy,” Eric argued, before he could think about it.

He had almost stopped laughing, but that set Kent right off again.  “If that were the case, you’d be a lot more affectionate,” he got out.

Eric’s heart raced suddenly as his feet stepped toward Kent without his permission, but he didn’t stop when he realized what he was doing.  He went with it, bringing his hands to Kent’s waist and pulling him forward.  Kent came willingly enough, linking his arms behind Eric’s neck and looking down at him inquisitively.  He wasn’t going to get an answer; Eric didn’t know what he was doing here at all.

Clearly, Kent did.  As if he was afraid he was pressuring Eric, he moved in slowly until their mouths met gently.  Eric responded more intensely than anticipated, bringing their bodies back together and standing very slightly on his toes for a better angle.  He could feel Kent’s smile when he did it, but was pretty easily distracted by the feeling of teeth gently scraping his bottom lip before they were gone completely.

Kent licked his lips before speaking.  “I wasn’t going to kiss you before I even brushed my teeth.”

The idea that Kent had been planning to kiss him lodged itself in Eric’s brain and didn’t leave.  They were on the same page, or at least now he was hopeful that they were.

Regretfully, he stepped back, allowing for Kent to leave and go get ready.  He did, though not without first running his hand through Eric’s hair in a way that could have been teasing but mostly felt sexy.

When they were both ready, Kent made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want Eric to bring his bag with to leave at the end of the day by intercepting his attempt to grab his backpack and sticking his hand in Eric’s in its place.

“Let’s go.”

\---

Eric hadn’t been lying; he’d never really had a tourist experience of Boston.  And Kent was either surprisingly easygoing, or in a good mood that day, because he gladly showed Eric all of them, seeming to enjoy them unironically.

It shouldn’t have been this easy to be around him.  Eric remembered being so mad at Kent, and so desperate to protect Jack from anything that could cause him the slightest bit of pain.  He could recall that feeling completely, and yet he felt somehow more emotionally distant from it.

What he was feeling there, in Boston with Kent, was a kind of contented belonging, like he was understood and didn’t have to try too hard, like he had fallen into place somewhere unexpected, effortless.

He still couldn’t believe it.  Any feeling of betraying Jack was gone the longer they went without talking about him, the more they formed something separate from him and their own.  They just clicked, both wanting to enjoy themselves and be with people who undeniably wanted to be around them, too, learning that they had unexpectedly similar childhood experiences that led them to where they were today.  It was an incredibly normal way to spend time with someone; Eric had never really considered himself someone who needed normality, but it wasn’t like he was going to run from it, either.

They had breakfast at a diner that was almost rustic enough to make Eric feel right at home, explored downtown and all it had to offer, and ate lunch in the outdoor section of a cafe.  It seemed to be tempting some kind of fate, making it easier for passing tourists to catch a glimpse of Kent, but maybe there really was something to the baseball cap and sunglasses theory, or maybe he was less famous than Eric imagined him to be.

Whatever the case, it was great, and unusual.  Kent didn’t seem worried about what would happen even if someone did see them, lightly touching Eric almost all the time in some way.

If they kept this up, though, something was sure to come up, to test them.  But, somehow, Eric found that he wasn’t worried about that at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who supported Inadvertent and asked for a sequel!  
> Please comment WHATEVER YOU WANT. I have no problem with constructive criticism. Hell, give me unconstructive criticism. Comment while I'm at work so I get the emails on my phone and feel happy. Tell me if/why things affected you. Headcanon with me, request fics, call me a loser, whatever you feel.  
> I'm on tumblr as [loveandallthat](http://loveandallthat.tumblr.com/), if you're into that sort of thing.


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